


The night in our souls

by Makkoska



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, M/M, PWP-ish, Rough Sex, Some angst, Vampire Hunter!Madara, Vampire!Hashirama, more excessive, nothing excessive, some blood and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 09:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: Madara is the last descendant of a once prosperous vampire hunter clan. He’s good at his profession, however there’s one creature he can never kill.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	The night in our souls

**Author's Note:**

> “Whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars.” - Victor Hugo

Madara placed his foot in the stirrup and pulled the string taunt on his crossbow. He stood up straight and loaded a bolt. The whole thing hardly lasted any time at all. Madara was extremely practiced with his weapons of choice. The air carried the wisp of blood and his heart gave an involuntary hard thump before he forced calmness on himself with a few deep, steady breaths.

He’d been in the business since he was fifteen, for more than twenty years. He was the descendant of the Uchiha after all, a once prosperous clan known for their skills in vampire hunting. Times had changed, but the Uchiha didn’t, and that led to the descent of the family. People feared the supernatural less and less, until they stopped believing in them altogether. Nobody wanted to pay them for killing werewolves and vampires they didn’t think existed. The game had realised they must act on these new times as well. Some of them become more careful, while others paraded themselves in… well, not in plain daylight, obviously. But they pretended to be human, drawing in their prey with the lure of money, power and alluring beauty. These were even worse than the ones in hiding. One couldn’t walk up to a being people considered to be a fellow human and shoot an arrow through their undead heart. 

Most of the Uchiha might have gone out of business, but Madara didn’t follow their lead. He held too many grudges, too much bitterness for that. His thirst for vengeance could only be quenched with vampire blood.

He was hunting for a specific specimen, a white-haired bastard that killed his little brother. He knew he wouldn’t find peace until he saw him disintegrate to dust. Until he found him - the more bloodsucker monsters he sent to Hell, the better.

He followed the scent of blood. An ordinary man wouldn’t have picked up anything over the stench of the city, but Madara was no ordinary man. Silent as a fox he creeped through narrow, dirty allies, chasing a prey that didn’t yet know they’ve been spotted.

He turned a corner and saw the beast - a male, still feeding from his victim. Madara raised his crossbow. He would fire when the vampire strengthened, so he wouldn’t hit the human he was feeding from on the off chance they were still alive.

The vampire sensed him, he could see when he stilled his movements and stiffened. He stood up and turned slowly. He was tall, with long, straight hair that fell silkily down to the middle of his back and even before he turned, Madara knew who he was. He had to squeeze the trigger now, before it was too late. Still, he hesitated.

The creature turned. He was handsome, with a complexion that seemed almost tan, especially now, after he had just fed. His eyes were dark and decisively kind. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, ruining the image of him being human.

“Madara?” he asked. “Please, don’t…”

Madara released the bolt. His aim was slightly off, and he knew he was too slow. He threw the crossbow down, not even having the time to curse, and drew his silver short sword. Not as deadly for a vampire as a wooden arrow but causing painful enough cuts that should slow him down.

The next instant the vampire was on him, grabbing Madara’s wrist in an inhumanly strong grip, trying to twist the blade from his hand. The Uchiha kicked him in the side, but for all intents and purposes, he might have kicked a massive oak tree, he would have had the same effect. Hashirama had always been ridiculously strong, even for his kind. He forced Madara’s hand back against the wall, immobilising it, while he pushed his body against him, pinning him down completely. The hunter knew it was only because the blood of his victim circulating in his veins, but he felt warm. As always, Madara’s body reacted to his proximity.

“Let the sword go, Madara,” he whispered into his ear, with a Suggestion that was hard to ignore. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His breath was warm as well, smelling of blood. His canines must be still lengthened. He must still crave to feed, with the way he was interrupted. There was a weak part of Madara, a part that he despised, which wanted to feel those sharp teeth sinking into his flesh, wanted that ecstatic agony that came with it.

Angry at himself and at the beast pinning him down, he moved his free arm inconspicuously, taking a small silver knife from his belt and stabbing it into Hashirama’s thigh with a fluid movement. 

As the vampire hissed in pain and his grip on his wrist slackened, Madara twisted sideways, tearing himself free of his hold. He brought the sword down, but Hashirama, of course, dodged the swing. 

They fought, Hashirama using his bare hands, Madara his weapons, matching blow by blow, parrying, twisting sideways to avoid the more serious ones, their duet feeling well practiced, like a dance of partners who knew each other well.

And that was the thing, the reason why Madara held his blows back, avoiding lethal strikes and that was why Hashirama kept his inhuman strength in check. They knew each other. He was the only vampire Madara knew before he turned, when he was still human.

They were best friends as kids, and how were you supposed to destroy a being that you couldn’t fully believe was evil? Madara knew his hesitation was dangerous, his… _bond_ with this creature downright stupid. Hashirama stopped being the young man who used to be his friend and then lover on the faithful night he was turned into a bloodsucking undead monster.

But Hashirama had always been too stubborn. He never fully succumbed to his new, dark nature. Madara was now thirty-five, but Hashirama would forever look twenty. The youthful hope, the mirror of their naive dreams was still reflecting in his dark eyes. Madara tried to kill him several times, but he always failed. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Their fight, just as all their fights before, must have looked serious from an outsider’s perspective, but they knew each other’s limits and weak points too well. Neither of them pushed past a certain point. 

There was a small smile on Hashirama’s lips and Madara couldn’t decide if he was mocking him, their mutual stupidity or if he was simply having a good time, despite the numerous cuts from Madara’s silver weapons. Madara smashed the handle of his sword against his cheek and that finally made that smile disappear. Hashirama cursed and pushed him against the wall again, pinning him against the concrete with his taller and heavier frame. For a long moment nothing but Madara’s heaving breaths broke the silence of the dingy alley. 

Hashirama, who didn’t need to breathe, stared down at him calmly. Madara wished he would be out of breath too, that he would bleed and feel pain as he did. Those wishes were vain, of course. Hashirama was no longer human, hadn’t been for more than one and a half decade.

Madara knew one thing in life, and that was how to fight creatures like him. Yet, when Hashirama leaned down and kissed him gently, he kissed back. Just like all other times before, he was too weak to resist him. 

His lips were soft and living-warm. He tasted of blood.

“I missed you,” Hashirama whispered when their mouths parted. “It has been years, haven’t it? Where have you been?”

“I’m not here for you,” Madara replied as coldly as he could. “I didn’t even know I would find you here. You are not the one I’m hunting. But you could lead me to him.”

“Tobirama,” Hashirama nodded sadly. “You are still after him.”

“Of course I am. He killed Izuna.”

“He couldn’t stop himself… back then. I’m… I’m keeping him in check, you know. I’m so sorry that…”

“There’s no point to this,” Madara pushed on his shoulder and Hashirama let him go. “He was acting on his nature, as you are bound to do one day as well. If you won’t lead me to him, I might as well kill you now. You are just as dangerous, if not more so.”

“Maybe you are right. We are what we are, we are what we have been made to. But he’s still my brother, no matter what. I can’t let you kill him. I’ve no desire to perish myself, despite how miserable this existence can be.”

“Draining people in dirty alleys like this, Hashirama? How many have you killed since we last met?”

“I don’t kill them, you know I’m careful!” Hashirama protested. “I know how this looks, but I have to feed. Don’t think I’m not in control of my urges. I haven’t forgotten…”

As if to prove his point, the man he’d been sucking the blood of when Madara interrupted groaned and tried to get up. After a bit of a hesitation, the vampire walked over to him. 

“What happened?” the poor bugger asked as Hashirama helped him to sit up.

“You slipped and hit your head. How do you feel? Should I call the ambulance?”

“No, I think I’m… alright. Just a bit dizzy. Thank you, young man.”

Hashirama smiled at his victim in an encouraging, friendly way. There was some dried blood on his chin and lips still, but the man didn’t seem to see it.

Madara watched as the vampire worked. He kept chatting with the man, all concern and amity, as he moved his palm over the wound over his neck. It healed up almost immediately under his touch. As far as the hunter knew, this was an ability unique to him, at least he had certainly never seen another vampire heal humans like this before. 

The man was on his feet in no time, shaking Hashirama’s hand gratefully. He never spared Madara a glance - given his befuddled expression, he likely didn’t even see him. 

Hashirama flashed his grin at Madara, apparently pleased with himself. The Uchiha snorted and picked his discarded crossbow up from the ground with a pointed look at the vampire. Hashirama’s smile dropped, but as Madara wasn’t loading a new bolt to shoot him, he just scratched his head in an embarrassed sort of gesture. Madara hated these moments, when he was so strongly reminded of the boy this creature once was.

“I have a place nearby,” Hashirama said quietly. “Do you want to come over?”

“You have blood all over your face. Clean up, first,” Madara snapped, exaggerating. It didn’t change the fact that yes, he was going to go over to the vampire’s lair.

“Oh, shit,” Hashirama took a pack of paper tissue from his back pocket and wiped off the by now dried blood. Rather than to deal with his own strongly questionable decisions, Madara concentrated on the absurdity of a vampire carrying around paper tissues. One would have expected a laced handkerchief, or something like that. But then, Hashirama was wearing baggy jeans, sneakers and a khaki coloured Henley shirt. Hardly a prince-of-darkness attire. “Better now?”

“I’m not sure about that, but at least the blood is gone,” Madara couldn’t stop a small smile to curve his lips. “Lead the way.”

They earned a few surprised glances as they walked the streets and Madara knew it was because of him. If someone looked strange from the two of them, it was the Uchiha. He was in his full hunter gear, a heavy leather jacket zipped up to his chin, thick denim covering his legs, all aimed to ward off sharp nails and teeth. All in black, of course, so blood wouldn’t show on them. He had his sword and knives, crossbow and his bolts on him. With his black, chaotic hair tied back into a messy ponytail, with his pale face and the prominent, dark circles under his eyes, if someone looked like a stereotypical vampire of the two of them, it was him. 

Hashirama walked next to him with his springy steps, flashing an easy smile at everyone who passed by and the glances slid off from them. For once, Madara was grateful for his ability to daze people this way. 

Madara had raided various vampire dens over the years. Most of them tended to be underground, to minimise the risk of sunlight seeping in. They were usually dark and creepy, although he had been in some extravagant penthouses as well and in old, huge mansions too. Hashirama’s place was a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of an unassuming building in a moderately well-off neighbourhood. Madara would think him a genius for it - who on earth would look for a vampire in such a place? - but he probably just never considered how unfitting it was. The furniture was all comfortable looking but modest, practical. The walls were painted to a friendly cream colour that didn’t clash too horribly with the heavy, chocolate brown blackout curtains.

The only unusual thing about the flat was how the bedroom didn’t have a window at all. 

“Uhm, yeah, so that’s it,” Hashirama pointed around. “I have some orange juice and red wine if you want some.”

To help replenish blood, Madara assumed. How often Hashirama brought humans up to his flat to feed from them and then have them drink wine or juice so they felt better? An ugly flare of jealousy blossomed in the pit of his stomach. He quenched it quickly. It was an out of place emotion, one that made no sense. 

“Some wine would be nice,” he said. He hung his jacket up on the coat rack by the door, lined his boots there as well. He propped his crossbow and short sword against the wall. Careless, so careless. He was barefooted, devoid of his main weapons and about to drink alcohol in the presence of this dangerous creature, just because he was wearing the face of an old friend. It was just hard to believe Hashirama would harm him. Throughout the years, again and again, Madara kept falling into the same trap, lured by the false promise of normalcy, driven by the craving for Hashirama’s company, no matter what he had become. 

Hashirama handed him a glass of wine, even poured himself too, although he wasn’t drinking from it. They sat on the beige faux leather couch at a respectable distance, but then Hashirama extended his arm along headrest, his fingers brushing Madara’s hair as if by accident.

They had first gone out for a date when they were seventeen. They knew each other for years, they had been friends long before realising and admitting they wanted something even more from each other, that their feelings weren’t platonic. Suddenly that context made that one time in the cinema awkward, although they had been to the movies countless times before. Madara had been clutching his soda, unsure what to do with his hands as Hashirama shifted, raised his arm as if he was just stretching, then very cautiously put it around Madara’s shoulders. When he didn’t move away, he pulled him a bit closer, until they were as snug as the armrest between them allowed. Madara had no clue what the film was about, but he would always remember their awkward embrace. 

Hashirama’s fingers brushing carefully against his locks was an unwanted reminder of that cinema night from so long ago, yet Madara didn’t shake off his hand. He closed his eyes and drank a long sip from his wine. Hashirama took it as encouragement and his fingers became bolder, brushing against Madara’s neck, running down to his arm. They were still warm, but that warmth would be gone in a few hours, unless Hashirama fed again. Madara took another desperate gulp of his wine, that thought settling oddly in his stomach. He was getting all kinds of dangerous, stupid ideas. 

“I missed you,” Hashirama whispered, shifting closer. 

_I missed you too,_ Madara did not say. 

“It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?” he asked instead. “Yet here we are. Again. Me, getting older and you…” Not getting older, never changing. 

“I… we could stay. Together, I mean,” Hashirama cupped his face, his thumb caressing his cheek.

“You know that is impossible. You are… you have changed too much.”

“It doesn't need to be impossible. I can… You can _join_ me.”

“Hashirama.” He grabbed his wrist but didn’t force his hand away from his face. “If you ever try to turn me, I will destroy you without any hesitation. Do you get it? We can never become the same again. Even more - I’m hunting your brother. If it comes to that, would you choose me over him? I don’t think so.”

Hashirama closed his eyes. He didn’t cry - Madara didn’t think vampires could cry at all. When he looked at Madara again, his eyes were sad but clear.

“I wish I were stronger that night.”

Madara sighed. There was no point in wishing to change the past. One could only control the present and work on a better future. Madara himself liked to have a few goals. He wanted to avenge his little brother’s death. If he managed that, and survived, he would hunt down the old bloodsucker who turned Hashirama. Hagoromo was a legendary creature, as ancient as time itself, but Madara was willing to take a chance. He had taken all of Madara’s dreams on a whim, when he decided to make Hashirama and Tobirama vampires.

“No use of dwelling on the past, is there?” Madara knew it was a hypocrite thing for him to say, being a man who did nothing but trying to avenge the past. He drained the remaining of his wine and Hashirama got up to pour him another glass. He didn’t sit back on the couch but crouched down in front of Madara, scrutinizing him with his head tipped to the side.

“What?”

“You say you are getting older, but I can’t see that. You look great.”

Madara smirked slowly, appreciating the change in subject. He put his glass to the side and leaned forward.

“Good enough to eat?” he teased. A spark of something dangerous and alluring flashed to life in Hashirama’s dark eyes. He took Madara’s hand in his and placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist where the veins ran just under the tender skin. The Uchiha’s pulse picked up speed and he knew the other could feel it under his lips. He didn’t wrestle his heartbeat into control this time. If he was honest with himself, this is what he followed Hashirama for. He definitely didn’t come here to sadly reminisce about their lost chances. Hashirama tipped his head up, and Madara leaned in and their lips met.

Madara had been keyed up ever since their clash in the alley. Through the years, they kept repeating this pattern - a meeting, which felt more due to fate then simple chance, a fight, where they never seriously wounded the other, then sex, a desperate grasp for something that was long lost.

After all occasions, Madara swore he would know better next time. After tonight, he would swear again. Yet he knew, were they to ever meet again, he would repeat the same mistake. One day, he would learn to let Hashirama go for good. If he ever managed to pierce Tobirama’s blackened heart with a wooden stake, Hashirama himself would sever their bond. But it wasn’t today. Neither of them was ready yet.

Madara ran his fingers through Hashirama’s hair as their kiss became heated. Long, silky locks, not a tangle anywhere despite his hunt earlier the evening and their fight. He wrapped a handful around his fist and yanked him even closer. He pushed his tongue into Hashirama’s mouth and ran it over the edge of his teeth. His canines were already lengthening as he was becoming aroused, and that was fuel for Madara’s own excitement as well.

“Bedroom,” Hashirama gasped, although he hardly needed air. “Let me show you to the bedroom.”

The bedroom had a small wardrobe and a large bed all in neutral, friendly colours. One would expect a vampire to spend his daytime torpor in a coffin, or at the very least wrapped in satin sheets on a canopy bed, hidden from view by dark fabric. 

Hashirama’s bed had badly made cotton sheets on it, adorned by a cheerful mushroom pattern. Madara had the chance to take this all in as Hashirama switched the small bedside lamp on for his benefit. Hashirama himself hardly needed any light to see in the dark. 

Madara was about to make a comment, on the lack of windows or on the bloody mushrooms, but Hashirama was already in front of him, leaning in for a kiss and all these paradoxical oddities didn’t matter all that much anymore. 

It was easy to undress Hashirama from his casual jeans and Henley. Madara’s clothes were more layered, with his black turtleneck sweater, the vest underneath, the thick denim of his trousers with its wide belt, the leather straps on his thighs, all aimed to protect his body, not designed to be easily shed. Hashirama’s fingers were quick and nimble, and he worked all buttons, zips and buckles with unrelenting patience. 

Once both of them were naked, Madara pushed him towards the bed. Hashirama laid down on his back and he climbed on top. His body was unmarred, there was no sign of even the cuts from the silver knife from earlier. Madara’s body had quite a few new scars since they had last done this, mementos from fights with so many dark creatures. Hashirama rolled them to their sides, kissing and caressing all the new blemishes as if he remembered exactly which ones he didn’t see before. He then urged Madara to his back and did the same with the older ones. His touch was pleasant and arousing but suddenly Madara couldn’t take this gentleness anymore. He felt too raw, too exposed, and gentle lovemaking would be too much like pretending, too much like acting normal. He grabbed Hashirama’s hair and yanked his head up for a rough kiss. 

“Enough of this,” he said. “I need you to fuck me.”

“I was getting there,” Hashirama protested, but his pupils dilated, his eyes getting darker than ever, telling Madara what he needed to know. He twisted his hair further and Hashirama hissed, despite not feeling pain the same way a human would have. Madara then bit down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucking on the tender skin in a way that would have left a bruise on a man. Hashirama bucked against him violently. Madara felt his hard cock thrusting against his pelvis. He grabbed Madara’s wrists and forced them above his head, holding them immobile with one hand. Although he was in an excellent physical condition, Madara was no match in bare handed wrestling with a vampire.

Hashirama looked feral. His lips were parted, showing off his long, sharp canines. The expression on his face was bare, raw hunger and his eyes were blazing in the dim light of the room. He looked like the vampire he was and Madara needed that, needed to remember his true nature. 

He thrusted his hips up, rubbing his rapidly stiffening cock against Hashirama’s abdomen. 

“What are you waiting for?” he taunted. “Get on with it.”

Hashirama _growled._ A thrill ran down Madara’s spine, part arousal, part wary that he might have gone too far and part glee for being able to push Hashirama’s buttons so easily. For a moment he thought he might get what he demanded, that the other would push into him, with no preparation or care for his comfort. 

Blood for vampires was more than simply food. It was a drug, a source of ecstasy. Madara knew very well that a vampire in a sexual situation would hardly be able to resist a temptation, not even someone unusually in control of his dark urges. 

Still, Hashirama was a special case. Madara watched in fascination as he wrestled with his instincts, fighting to remain in charge and at his senses.

“Keep your hands there,” he commanded in a hoarse voice as he reached out to take a plastic bottle from his drawer. Lube. 

The jealousy that twisted Madara’s insides this time was harder to ignore. He did not ask just how often Hashirama had humans in his bed, fucking them before he drank their blood.

“Hurry up, won’t you” he sneered. “Or I’ll change my mind.”

Hashirama’s eyebrows twitched, whether in annoyance or disbelief, it was impossible to tell. He poured lube on his fingers as Madara opened his legs wide. He kept his arms above his head. 

Hashirama worked him open with quick, effective movements. He was rougher and went faster than it was comfortable, but the last thing on Madara’s mind was to complain. He welcomed the stretch, the burn. He welcomed the urgency. He had no time to overthink the whole situation. He didn’t even try to keep back his groan when Hashirama curved his fingers and rubbed them against his prostate. He pushed back on them, demanding more. 

“That’s enough,” he gasped. “I can take you.” 

Hashirama pushed his forehead against his thigh, taking a deep breath, because apparently even vampires needed a calming breath now and then.

“Are you sure, Madara? Because I don’t think I will be able to stop.”

As Hashirama couldn’t see his expression, Madara allowed a soft and fond smile to spread over his face. He petted the other’s silky hair.

“That’s alright. I’m sure. I want you in me, _now.”_

The next instant Hashirama was kissing him, his hands spreading Madara’s thighs even wider with obvious impatience. He rutted against his arse, as if he was just some beast in heat. The head of his prick caught against the rim of Madara’s hole. The Uchiha hissed, reaching down to guide him in, unwilling to wait any longer. 

The breach was painful, the hurried preparation earlier not loosening him enough for Hashirama’s girth. Madara breathed through his nose and forced his body to relax, to stop fighting the intrusion. Hashirama fucked into him with shallow, quick thrusts, sinking deeper into him with every jerk of his hip, until he finally bottomed out. _Give me a moment to adjust,_ Madara wanted to say, but Hashirama was already grabbing his wrists again, pushing them down against the bed.

“I told you to keep them there,” he murmured as he continued to thrust into him, with deeper, slower strokes now. Madara stopped resisting, he let his body just take and feel. Hashirama’s cock rubbed against that sweet spot inside, turning the pain into pleasure. Madara met his thrusts with his own, pushed his arse back to meet all movements with his own.

“Do it harder, Hashirama,” he gasped out. “Fuck me.”

Far too gone, Hashirama obeyed immediately, slamming into him with brutal force. His hands, one around Madara’s wrists, the other on his hips were like vice. Come tomorrow, bruises would bloom on the hunter’s skin, and he would probe at them, cherish them as they would make him think of his lover. For now, it was just the sweet torture of painful rapture. Madara never had sex with another vampire of course, he hardly ever had sex with humans either, but he couldn’t imagine it ever getting better than this. Time, his concerns, his fears, his regrets, the outside world, they all stopped to exist. It was just Hashirama and him, bodies merged into one in this primal act.

“More,” he heard his own voice command or beg. “Give me more.”

More of what, he couldn’t have said. His body felt being pushed to its limit already, even walking would be a challenge after this. He tried to pull his arms free, but Hashirama didn’t let him go, just growled like a predator at his prey, and _shit,_ but even that turned Madara on even further. His thighs were trembling from being kept so wide open. Yet, he still wanted more. 

He threw his head back, bowing his neck in an arch, offering vulnerable, delicate skin and the rapid pulse in his veins running just under the surface, knowing very well that Hashirama wouldn’t be able to resist.

Sharp teeth sank into his flesh, piercing deeply and then Hashirama sucked, and it was the most torturous agony and the most divine ecstasy. It was better than someone sucking his cock, he was sucking right at his _soul,_ and Madara had never felt so connected, so overwhelmed, so high.

He was only dimly aware that he was coming, spaying his own stomach with cum without a touch to his cock. It was almost a secondary thing compared to the pleasure of Hashirama drinking from him, draining him. 

With a flicker of conscious thought, he wondered if they made a deadly mistake. Hashirama might not remember in his current state that he needed to stop. 

Then the world went dark.

Consciousness returned to him sluggishly. He first became aware of a hand petting his hair. There was a voice whispering to him gently. He was half lying, half sitting in bed, with his head propped up against Hashirama’s solid chest.

“Madara? Are you awake?”

“Hmm-mm.” He tried to sit up, but the room spun violently around him. 

“Careful, careful. You have lost a lot of blood. I…This was very stupid of us, Madara. I almost killed you. I just kept… We can’t do this again. You need to be careful. You almost died.”

_It would have been worth it still,_ Madara thought. 

“But I didn’t,” he stated. There was no point in agreeing never to do something like this again, when they both knew they were too weak to resist. “It’s okay, I just need… orange juice.”

Hashirama laid him down carefully, away from what, based on the metallic stench, was a large spot of blood. The cheerful mushroom patterned bed sheet was ruined. Not much of a loss, in Madara’s opinion. 

He reached up and touched his neck gingerly. The wound was all gone - Hashirama had already healed it. The spot was still sensitive and Madara pushed his fingers against it, chasing the last of the thrill he had felt. He quickly dropped his hand when Hashirama returned with a glass of juice.

He drank and then Hashirama crawled under the cover as well. He was warm, almost feverishly so after his feeding and Madara burrowed against this stolen heat. 

“Madara?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked you not to push me this way the last time too.”  
  


“I don’t remember agreeing.”

“Will you agree now?”

“Hashirama,” Madara turned his head with an effort, to take a long look at him. He was beautiful. His skin was glowing, his eyes bright. He seemed younger and stronger and healthier than before. He seemed like a perfect human, someone unrealistically dazzling, more alive than one would think possible. Madara wanted to remember him like this, always. He wanted to be the one who brought Hashirama back to life with his blood, no matter how temporary he knew this state to be. “I won’t promise you something I have no intention of keeping.”

Hashirama tightened his arms around him and burrowed his nose in his hair. They didn’t talk more about what happened or what their future would bring.

Even in the windowless room, Madara knew when the sun rose, as Hashirama went first drowsy, then seemed to fall asleep. With so much fresh blood in his veins, he still appeared to be alive, as if he was just resting. Madara pushed his fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse. He knew he wouldn’t find any, and yet, he still had to close his eyes against the bitter disappointment. 

It took him a long while to gather his strength to leave the bed. Hashirama had healed him and cleaned him of blood as semen, but his legs were still wobbly, his head dizzy. He collected his clothes from the floor and dressed in the living room. By the time he finished, it was two in the afternoon. He drank all the orange juice to quench his thirst, but it did nothing to his ravenous hunger. 

Finally, fully dressed and with all of his weapons on his body, he looked around. Leaving the next day was always the worst part. He knew Hashirama would have loved him to stay. Hell, he wanted to stay as well, but he couldn’t. Their bond was already too dangerous, for both of them. Yet, sneaking out also felt wrong. He found a piece of paper and a pen on the desk.

_I’ll miss you,_ he wanted to write. _My Love. Find me._

He sighed, angry at himself. He scribbled a quick note and left it on the table for Hashirama to find when he awoke at nightfall. 

_Until next time,_ it said.

**FIN**

  
  



End file.
